Tracking Tranquility
by 3GallonsAday
Summary: The Winchester family has always managed on their own. As the hunt for the demon that killed Mary continues, John decides that help should be sent his sons' way. Can she be trusted, or will her secrets make the Winchesters' world come crashing down? Dean/OC/Sam, beginning in season 2
1. Chapter 1

a/n: We do not own Supernatural.

* * *

As I sat across from the worn-out, devout hunter in front of me, I couldn't help but think how strangely calm he was. He casually sipped his beer, eyes combing through the crowd surrounding us in the bar as he normally would. The same stern, reserved expression graced his face as it always had. He seemed virtually unaffected after finding out about my abilities; I had been bracing for our friendship to come to a screeching halt, seeing as he had dedicated his life to hunting the supernatural. His sole purpose in life was to track down the demon that murdered his wife years ago and changed him forever. It tore his family to shreds, to the point where he constantly ignored his sons in hopes of keeping them safe. You'd think someone who spent so much time trying to avenge his wife's death would place a bit more importance on family. He would tell me from time to time that his absence was the only reason his sons were still breathing, that killing this demon he had spent so many years hunting would bring an end to their suffering. Now that we knew that the evil son of a bitch had been recruiting children to carry out its own evil agenda, his younger son unknowingly being one of those children, killing the demon mattered now more than ever.

It baffled me that I hadn't found myself staring down the barrel of his gun yet. Whether it was due to the fact that we had built a solid friendship, or the fact that I saved his ass 6 months ago when all of this started, I was lucky that I hadn't gone from being a hunter to becoming the hunted. If it wasn't for my ability to sense the emotions of those around me I would have fled by now, but all I could sense was his usual persona. It was strange to think that he knew so much about me, one of my deepest secrets, and I didn't even know his sons' names. Hell, for all I knew, he was lying to me about his own name. Even though I could sense his emotions, I couldn't help but wonder what was running through his head; I hadn't been able to stop thinking to the point where I was zoning out. Was he in as deep of concentration as I was, thinking over our whole relationship and deciding what to do?

"It's good beer."

I stared at him incredulously, wondering how he could possibly be more concerned with the quality of beer than he was with the knowledge of my supernatural abilities.

"...Why the hell are you looking at me like that?" he asked, slightly weirded out.

"You just found out my deepest, darkest secret and all you have to talk about is cheap beer?" I replied. I was itching to know how he viewed me now that he knew the truth. I looked down at my own beer, realizing I hadn't even touched it.

"We've worked together for a few months, you're a decent hunter. I trust you," he said matter-of-factly, taking another nonchalant swig of his beer.

I merely nodded in understanding, feeling a bit more at ease than I had when we sat down. I picked up my beer and took a rather large sip, trying to wind down after the internally stressful day I'd been having.

"And if at some point you lose my trust, I'll hunt you," he said in all seriousness.

I choked on my beer and shot him a look, trying to mask the slight fear in my eyes. Maybe I should have left my drink untouched after all, considering I was sputtering it all over the table now and making a fool of myself. I grabbed a few napkins to clean up the mess.

"Just don't do anything to betray me and there won't be any issues," he offered as some sort of cold consolation. He wasn't really the comforting type, and I couldn't blame him.

I nodded silently, figuring that I shouldn't take it to heart considering hunting supernatural creatures was his life's purpose. Before I could dwell on the topic any longer, my train of thought was broken by John waving down our waitress to get the check. She promptly brought it over and he signed "John Sanders", one of the few names I had seen him use. I knew him as John Sanders, John Lewis, and my personal favorite, John Johnson. One of them had to be real, but I didn't push the issue. We finished the last few sips of our beer and John's phone rang. It didn't surprise me anymore when he didn't answer, I knew what it meant. His sons were calling him. It was hard to resist the urge tell him that he should answer them, but he was set on figuring things out himself and that the less they knew, the better. Here was a man who held so much value in family and love that he dedicated his life to finding the demon who had killed his wife, yet he couldn't work with the sons he had raised to handle these types of situations. The screen light went dull and, as always, John instantly went to listen to the message left with no intention of reacting or responding to what his boys had said.

"We're heading to Illinois," he said simply, but I could feel a sense of urgency radiating off of him.

"Is everything...is something wrong?" I wasn't quite sure how to ask him without invading his privacy, considering the topic of his sons had always been a sensitive subject.

"The boys need help; they said they have a lead on the demon. We need to get to Chicago," he said as he dropped a few dollars' tip on the table. I put my coat on and followed him outside, silently hoping that we would be able to make it in time. It would take until at least nightfall for us to reach Chicago, but this was the job he had been working towards for years. John would finally be able to put his demons to rest (no pun intended) and maybe even reconnect with his estranged sons.

* * *

After speeding down the road as fast as the worn truck could carry us, we pulled up to the address of the warehouse that had been given to us in the message. Before we had the chance to scout the area, or even step out of the truck, we watched as flesh collided with glass-covered asphalt. John figured that meant the boys had taken care of the job, so we moved on to the hotel room they were staying at. The boys were easy to find once I learned that they used the names of rock stars to check into places.

We kept the lights off, not wanting to alert anyone to our presence; whether it is a hotel or a home, it is breaking and entering to show up in someone else's room. I felt my way through the dark to try and find the bathroom. We didn't have any time for stops on the drive, and I was relieved after unloading hours of pee held in. As I was finishing up, I heard deep, commanding shouts. Alarmed, I reached for the gun tucked into the back of my jeans. It might have just been John's sons, but a hunter can never be too careful. I pressed my ear to the door, listening for an appropriate time to emerge. Because hunters can never be too careful, I didn't want to get shot for opening the door and startling them. At the same time, I didn't want to leave John to fend for himself if things got messy.

I felt the emotions of the room shift from hostile to heartfelt. They must have realized that it was no robber, but the father whose voice they hadn't heard in months. I felt that it was safe for me to reveal myself and I slowly turned the knob. As the door opened, the two tall men quickly drew the weapons they had stowed away in the back of their pants.

"She's with me," John said reassuringly, motioning for his sons to put their guns down.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the taller son lower his weapon, allowing me to focus in on the other son with vibrant hazel eyes that were illuminated by the dim glow of a streetlamp filtering in through the window. It was very Morticia Addams-y. He took a minute to analyze me with a cold, stern look on his face and decided I wasn't an immediate threat. Tucking his gun back into a safe place, he turned to his father and, after taking in the reality of his father's face in front of him, embraced him tightly. It felt as though the room was overflowing with emotions that I couldn't quite place; hearts were bursting with happiness and stinging with sadness and tears were being choked back. After a strong embrace, John turned to face his other son, who walked up to him hesitantly with a glint of sadness in his eyes.

The men were in such awe that their father was actually standing in front of them; they couldn't stop staring at him. I couldn't take my eyes off of the younger son, not because of the touching moment that I was feeling so strongly, and not because of his soft brown eyes and strong jawline. I was so fixated on him because I recognized him as the man I had once left heartbroken. It was impossible to forget the way I had abandoned him.

 _I slipped into his dorm room as I had so many times before, but this time it wasn't for a romantic get-together between classes. There were no breathless kisses to be had, no clumsy embraces to be shared before running across campus to make it to study group on time. I surveyed the room, reminiscing with a sweet sadness all the places we had loved each other. I walked over to the bed and sat down, grabbing a stray pen and piece of paper off the nightstand to document my cowardice. The weight of my new found supernatural abilities was crushing me; feeling the roller coaster of emotions of everyone I merely passed by was too much for me to handle. How was I supposed to explain to the man I love that I was crumbling under the pressure? That I was too overwhelmed to stay in college because I was feeling the depression, the anger, the hurt of hundreds? There was no way to explain and remain together._

 _"Dear Sam, I'm so sorry for what I've done to you. I'm already gone, please don't come looking for me. I love you more than you'll ever know."_

No explanation. No reassurance that it wasn't his fault. The situation was too complex to even begin explaining, and I was too ashamed of what I was becoming. Maybe if I were braver I could have mustered up the courage to end it in person, but I had fallen apart, I had crumbled…

I was snapped out of my memory by the three men being thrown about the room. The two sons were attacked, fresh cuts and scratches appearing on their faces. John was being held down and viciously attacked by the demon, as if it was targeting him. Before I could move to try and help him, I felt a stinging pain on my forearm and glanced down to see two claw-shaped cuts, warm blood trickling down my hand. I hardly had time to realize what was happening before I felt a strong force slam me against the wall behind me. Sam scrambled for a bag of weapons that was sitting on the floor, and pulled out a flare stick.

"Shut your eyes! These things are shadow demons, so let's light 'em up!" he shouted as he lit the flare, illuminating the room and causing the shadow demon to vanish. The room filled with smoke and I couldn't stop myself from coughing, feeling around the room with Sam and his brother to find John. He looked like he had been hurt badly.

"Dad!" I heard Sam's brother shout.

"Over here," John sputtered between coughs. I felt my way over to him and helped him up, putting one of his arms around me. Sam's brother put John's other arm around him and we made our way to the door, Sam trailing behind us carrying the bag of weapons. We ran out to an alleyway and made our way to our vehicles in hopes of making a speedy escape; we certainly didn't want to face more shadow demons and the flare wouldn't last forever.

"Alright, come on. We don't have much time. As soon as the flare's out, they'll be back," Sam said slightly out of breath, stowing the bag of weapons into the back seat of a black Impala.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Sam's brother said catching his breath, looking between Sam and John. "Sam, wait…Dad, you can't come with us," he said with a twinge of sadness in his eyes.

"What? What are you talkin' about?" Sam said incredulously, shooting a confused look at his brother, John and lastly, me. I felt my heart drop to my stomach as I nearly caught his glance and averted my eyes to the asphalt beneath my feet to avoid meeting his gaze.

"You boys—you're beat to hell," said John, trying to mask the guilt he felt for leaving his sons to fend for themselves. Maybe it was only my sense of emotion, but it seeped through like ink spilled on paper.

"We'll be alright," Sam's brother reassured. Before John had a chance to say anything, Sam argued back.

"Dean, we should stick together!" he pleaded, his voice cracking a bit. "We'll go after those demons and-"

"Sam! Listen to me!" Dean nearly shouted. He looked at his brother apologetically and continued, "We almost got Dad killed in there. Don't you understand? They're not gonna stop. They're gonna use us to get to him. I mean, Meg was right. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us," he looked at his father, heartbroken for one moment but stern in the next. "He—he's stronger without us around."

"Dad, no," Sam's voice broke as he placed his hand on his father's shoulder with tears in his eyes. In that moment, seeing Sam so emotional, I contemplated whether or not I should say something about what happened between us. An explanation, an apology, anything to try and lighten the pain he was feeling, or at the very least give him some closure. After four years, he deserved that. So much time had passed that I hadn't given our time together much thought, but seeing his face, so worn and broken, had brought back all the guilt that plagued me when I left him without so much as a kiss goodbye. I had no idea what he was thinking when he saw me, if he was even thinking of me at all. Maybe he was so overjoyed to see his father again that he hardly even noticed me. How self-absorbed of me, to be thinking about our past romance in a life or death situation like this. "After everything, after all the time we spent lookin' for you…please. I gotta be a part of this fight."

"Sammy, this fight is just starting. And we're all gonna have a part to play," John glanced around to look at all of us. He redirected his gaze to Sam, sympathetically. "For now, you've got to trust me, son." Sam fought to keep his tears back and merely shook his head. "Okay, you've gotta let me go," John was close to tears now.

There was a suffocating silence as the three men looked to the ground trying to regain control of their emotions. I quietly put my head down, giving them a moment to say their goodbyes.

Sam patted his father's shoulder once before letting him go, stifling the tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks. John and Dean simply looked at each other with sadness in their eyes, not sure what to say.

John tried to start walking forward but stumbled a bit, still weak from the shadow demon attack. I put his arm around me for support once again and as we turned around to walk back to the truck, I caught Sam's gaze for what felt like an eternity. My heart pounded as I pathetically tried to muster up a sympathetic look. What could I have said to make up for the heartache I had caused him? His bloodied face displayed a mixture of sadness, rage and a twinge of what felt like jealousy. We had finally made it to the car and after helping John into the driver's seat I hurriedly hopped into the passenger's seat, internally screaming to be anywhere but here.


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: We do not own Supernatural.

* * *

A stoic expression graced Dean's features, his steely eyes glued to the road ahead of them. Rain splattered against the windshield and the melodic thud on the roof of the Impala was almost hypnotising. The typical classic rock music wasn't blasting through the stereo as Sam and Dean sat in a sickening silence, each lost in their own turmoil. Sam was staring out of the passenger's window with his jaw clenched tightly and his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Seeing her again after nearly four years, after the way she vanished without a trace, had him shaken.

Sorting through so many different emotions was difficult when he first laid eyes on her back at the abandoned building, partially due to shock but mainly because they were trying not to die. Even now, in the safety of the car, he was struggling to decipher exactly what he was feeling. What was she doing with their father? They had to jump through hoops to get so much as a phone call from the man and when they did finally see him again, he was with Charlotte Maiden of all people. Sam shifted his gaze to the open road and wondered if her intentions were honorable. After all, Meg had seemed just as innocent and turned out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. How long had Charlotte been involved in the hunting world, with his family no less? It all seemed too coincidental. Maybe she had been keeping tabs on him, maybe she even played a hand in Jess' death. Was she trying to infiltrate John next? Hunting had made him paranoid, secretly questioning everything and everyone. Hunters could never be too careful.

"So, you wanna find someplace to stop soon?" Dean's voice broke the silence as well as Sam's thoughts.

"Huh?" Sam said distractedly.

"I said you wanna call it a night when we get to the next town?" Dean repeated, glancing over at Sam, wondering what he was so caught up in thought about.

"Uh yeah, sure." Sam retreated to his brooding. There was a possibility that she had been a hunter all along, and that the life just swallowed her whole. Sam rubbed his eyes and sighed, feeling a bit guilty for his previous conspiracy theory. He knew all too well just how taxing a hunter's life could be and the lies, the loss and the choices it entails. He silently kicked himself for not saying anything to her; he should have figured out the truth to why she left without saying goodbye. He felt that he was at least worth an explanation, even if he wasn't enough to make her stay.

"Hey, who do you think that chick was?" Dean smirked, trying to lighten the mood to no avail. His eyes remained dark and focused, despite his upbeat expression.

Sam didn't answer.

"Sammy?" said Dean, trying to get his attention, waving one hand in front of his brother's face. "What's with you tonight?"

"I'm just out of it, I guess. Sorry. What'd you say?"

"Who do you think that chick with dad was?"

Sam shrugged and tried to seem ignorant. "Probably just another hunter he picked up. Maybe he needed help with this demon thing."

Dean chuckled, somewhat bitterly. "And he couldn't have called us for that?" Sam was quiet, and Dean didn't expect an answer. As much as he loved and respected his father, he never expected an answer. "Hey, she was kinda hot though, don'tcha think?" His nonchalant facade slipped back into place. "Dad's lucky he gets to look at that pretty face while he's on the road, I'm stuck lookin' at your mug," he joked.

"Can you just drop it?" Sam snapped, aggravated at his brother's repeated mention of the woman that had been on his mind the entire car ride.

"Jeez, Sammy, what crawled up your ass and died?" Dean shot him a half-concerned, half-annoyed look.

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes a bit, but just as he was about to retort, Dean's phone rang.

"Hello?" Dean answered.

"Dean, I need you and your brother to go to Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Now."

"What's goin' on?" he asked John, only to realise that he had already hung up. He glanced down at his phone and shook his head slightly, angrily snapping the phone shut and whipping the car around in a sharp U-turn. Sam slammed against the passenger side door and looked at Dean, nostrils flaring in anger.

"What the hell, Dean?!" he barked, readjusting in his seat. "Want to try and be a little more careful?"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your panties in a bunch," he said, speeding down the road just to annoy Sam.

"We hunt monsters day in and day out, I'd like my death to be a little more heroic than a car crash caused by one of your mood swings," said Sam jokingly.

Dean shot him a stern look, and then smirked. "Bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam chuckled, and Dean flipped the radio on, gearing up for the long night of driving that was ahead of him.

* * *

After a day of traveling from store to store to ask locals if they had noticed any strange happenings, Sam and Dean were at a dead end. They exited the diner, coffees in hand, disappointed that they had no lead on whatever their father sent them to Wisconsin for.

"Maybe dad was wrong," Sam said defeated, sipping his too-hot cup of coffee.

Dean simply sighed, trying to rationalize a reply and surveyed their surroundings. His eye caught something, or someone, unexpected leaning against the Impala. "Hey!" he shouted, running over to the car with Sam right behind him.

"Whoa, relax!" she said, raising her hands in surrender. "Your dad sent me. I, uh, I come in peace," she stammered with an awkward chuckle.

"I think he knows we can handle ourselves," said Dean with more than a hint of distrust in his voice. "No way he woulda sent you here to babysit us."

"Well, he did," she retorted with a small shrug.

"And we're just supposed to trust you, just like that? We don't even know your name. He woulda called and let us know he was sending you," he lied with an unwavering tone of confidence.

"My name is Charlotte, and you can see for yourself if I can safely get my cell out of my pocket?" she offered as she slowly reached for her phone. Once she felt safe, she retrieved it and brought up the text message she had received from John instructing her to head to Wisconsin. Dean nearly snatched it out of her hands; after examining it a little too long, he quickly masked his crestfallen expression with one of amusement.

"Alright, if you think you can hang," he handed her phone back to her, letting his gaze drift and settle on an empty park. He could not understand what this woman had done to deserve the attention from his father that he desperately craved. He and Sam had to realign the stars to get as much as a voicemail consisting of nothing but of coordinates from John; meanwhile, he had been running around with her like the best of friends, spending God-knows how much time together. He even made the effort to stay in contact with her when they parted ways, while his own sons were left wondering whether he was dead or alive.

"So…" Sam started, breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence. His pause lasted a few seconds too long, making the situation even more awkward. Charlotte's chocolate-eyed glance bounced from his face, to the ground, to the café just behind him, begging for a safe place to land. "Charlotte…do you have any leads yet?" His voice nearly caught in his throat when he uttered her name.

"Well, not exactly," she sighed, "but from the look of that park behind me, I'd guess that we've got something that's snatching up kids." The conviction with which she spoke took her by surprise. Inside, she was trembling. Her mind was a hurricane and she was sure she'd get swept away.

* * *

I was unsure how much longer I could stand face to face with Sam and avoid being impaled by guilt. His expression was painted with shades of disappointment and discomfort; he looked as though he would collapse into himself at any moment. It was apparent that he would rather crawl through broken glass than have a conversation with me. How could I blame him? I wanted desperately to tell him the sorrow that I felt for what I had done to him. I wanted to offer an explanation to him, something that would help him sleep a bit easier at night. I couldn't.

"That's all ya got?" His brother's gruff voice pulled me from my contemplation. I could, quite literally, feel the judgment dripping from his words.

"No," I said, squinting at him in irritation. How was I to have all of the answers when I could barely collect my thoughts? My eyes surveyed the empty park and landed on a woman sitting on a bench reading a magazine. "That's not all I got." I walked over to the bench and approached the woman. "It sure is quiet out here," I stated.

"Yeah, it's a shame," she said with a small shake of her head.

"Why's that?" I sat down on the bench next to her.

"You know, kids getting sick. It's a terrible thing." I felt her emotions shift from casual to concern.

"How many?" I pushed. Kids fall sick all of the time, licking dirt and sneezing on everything they come in contact with.

"Just five or six, but it's serious—hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious; they think it's catching," she said solemnly, shifting her gaze to the little girl playing alone on the park. I offered my hope that her daughter would remain in good health and made my way back over to Sam and his brother.

"What'd she have to say?" Sam's brother asked with an expression of genuine interest.

"She told me that a lot of the kids around here have fallen ill, bad enough to be hospitalized."

"So what's the plan?" asked Sam as the three of us exchanged looks.

We decided to drive back to the motel that they were staying at in our respective vehicles to have a bit more privacy. Even in a separate car I could feel the dread, disdain and quiet anger that was radiating from them. It almost felt like a twinge of jealousy was present as well. What was I getting myself into?

Once we reached the motel, I paid for a room of my own and we reconvened there to discuss the plan. I could sense their guarded presence before they set foot through the door.

"Dean, I think our first stop should be the hospital; see just what kind of condition these kids are in," Sam suggested, keeping his eyes on his brother to gauge his response.  
"Sounds like a plan, Sammy. Who should we go as this time? Janitors, surgeons, slutty male nurses?" said Dean with a glimmer of humor in his eye.

Sam chuckled, "I don't think we could pull off surgeons."

"You're investigating the cases, why not just go as people who are trained to do that?" I offered as a sensation of irritation seemed to wash over the room.

Dean glanced at me briefly before begrudgingly agreeing with me, "That's a good point. We already have the suits packed."

"Doctors? From the Center for Disease Control," Sam said, his eyes just barely passing over me.

"Cool. Let's get on it then," said Dean, standing up for his chair and motioning for Sam to leave with him.

"Wait a sec," I said in protest. They both fixated their attention on me for the first time since I arrived. "What am I supposed to do, sit in the room and twiddle my thumbs?"

"Why don't you paint your nails, princess? We don't need more than two people investigating the hospital," Dean said with what he must have thought was a cool tone. His bitterness was practically oozing out of every pore.

"Your dad didn't send me here to be on vacation. He sent me to work with you two because he thought you could use the help," I stated firmly. "Don't patronize me like I'm not a hunter myself."

"Look, we don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves. Why don't you can see what you can dig up online, see if anything like this has happened before? We'll give you a call when we find something out," Sam reasoned, calm on the outside and tense on the inside. He always did aim to be the one to diffuse difficult situations.

I was reluctant at first, but ultimately agreed. The last thing we needed was to be kicked out of the hospital, or worse, arrested for impersonating doctors. I exchanged phone numbers with them and urged them to call me at the first instance of a lead.

Once they left, I flopped myself down on the mattress, which felt more like a slab of concrete covered in sheets. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, letting out a long sigh. I couldn't decide what was worse—the way they had made me feel invisible while we conjured up a plan, or the way Dean had tried to belittle me into nothingness. I was just as much a hunter as they were; hell, their own father sent me in to help them fight whatever was infecting the children of Fitchburg. It seemed as though the Winchester men all had one trait in common: refusing help, kicking and screaming, when they needed it most. I had experienced it when I first met John months ago, and he seemed to have passed the lone wolf gene down to his sons. Sam never did like accepting my help, whether it was with homework or laundry or the nights he laid awake, tormented by things he would never tell me.

I quickly sat up and flipped on the television as a distraction. After a few moments of mindless channel surfing, I pulled out my laptop and began my research. I couldn't allow my foolish reminiscing deviate me from the task at hand.

* * *

I had been researching for what felt like centuries and restlessness began to set in. I hadn't found any substantial data on children falling sick at rapid rates and I felt a pit of hunger forming in my stomach. I checked my phone for a missed call or text—nothing. It had been two hours; I figured that they must have found something by now. The decision to call Dean and deal with his attitude or to call Sam and deal with the awkwardness loomed over me for a moment. I pressed call and waited for an answer.

"Hello?" I heard a gruff, yet quiet voice.

"Hey, did you guys find anything yet?" I asked. "I haven't gotten anywhere with the research, there's just no information."

"Yeah, we're kinda in the middle of something, so if you don't mind-" Dean snapped.

"I mind!" I interrupted. "Where the hell are you two?"

"Just meet us at 155 Maple Street."

He had hung up.

"Fucking Christ," I muttered under my breath, shoving my phone into my pocket and slipping my shoes on. _How dare they leave me out of the case? How dare they think that I'm incapable?_

I made my way to the house, speeding down the road in anger and anticipation. Once I found a spot to pull into I saw the Impala parked just up the street, empty. Hopping out of my car, I rushed up to the address Dean gave me to find them loitering on the doorstep.

"Hey, what took ya?" Dean said nonchalantly. "Already got the lock picked. We almost started without you."

"Why didn't you guys tell me you found a lead?" I demanded, instinctively placing my hand on my hip.

"Oh, relax. What, were you waiting by the phone for my call?" mocked Dean with a smirk.

"No, I was buried up to my elbows in dead-end research," I retorted.

"Let's just get inside," Sam said quietly. "We only have so long to do this and we've already wasted enough time," he said, looking directly at me.

"My pleasure," I said, walking past them up the steps. I bumped shoulders with Dean, who stood firmly in his spot, and pushed open the large, white door. In an instant, I felt something cold and dark coming from the house. I had only felt it once before, but I knew exactly what I was feeling—death.


	3. Chapter 3

a/n: We don't own Supernatural or any of the show's characters.

* * *

The anger that had been boiling my blood subsided as the dark presence of the house washed over me. With each passing moment I could feel the sensation of life being drained from a body; I imagined that was how the children felt when they were attacked in the dead of night. I was fixated at the doorway, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that had taken over my conscience. In the past few months I had focused on honing my supernatural skills, trying my best to regain some form of control in my life. I had not yet developed the ability to detach myself from situations that carried more emotional distress than I could handle; my deep connection to others' pain and suffering had rendered me vulnerable, and as much as I despised admitting it, I had become somewhat of a liability on cases I worked on in the past as a result. Being a hunter was difficult enough, but feeling the turmoil of distressed souls who haunted abandoned buildings, experiencing the terror of children who encountered monsters they thought only existed in their nightmares, enduring the agony of each person I desired to help, was nearly unbearable. Trying to find an inner calmness to focus on, I inhaled deeply. It felt as though my soul was fleeting, being swept away by the wind that whispered through the open windows. I hadn't realized that I had shut my eyes until they shot open at the sound of someone snapping loudly in front of my face.

"Do you have an EMF reader?" Sam asked, his eyes shining with that ever-present questioning expression. I much preferred Sam's genuinely curious demeanor over his brother's bitter annoyance that seemed to slide into place whenever I came around. "We can get outta here a lot faster if we all search the house separately."

"No, I don't have one," I answered quietly, surveying the house in hopes of finding the source of the dread that consumed me.

"What? Why not?" asked Dean as he walked over to the two of us.

"Don't you know I'm the ghost whisperer, Dean?" I said flatly, making my way to the staircase and looking up to the second floor. I sensed fear radiating from what I assumed was the children's bedroom.

Dean scoffed, "Yeah, you're the ghost whisperer without her best assets," motioning slightly towards my chest.

I merely scrunched up my nose in disgust at his blatantly misogynistic behavior; I knew there was little to no point in getting into a heated feminist debate with a person as stubborn as Dean. "I'll be upstairs," I deflected, walking up the staircase with Dean following suit.

* * *

Sam, who was left standing at the bottom of the staircase, shook his head in slight annoyance and opted to search the main level by himself. He wasn't in the mood to be subjected to their bickering. Being on the road with Dean each day and cramped together in a motel room each night had taken its toll on Sam, but Charlotte's presence added to his already elevated stress levels. Since she returned, he had spent far too much time trying to steal glances at her, deciphering the expressions that danced across her face. From the moment he saw her standing next to his father, distant memories nudged the back of his brain incessantly, and he had admitted defeat in getting lost in them. He could almost feel the sensation of lightly stroking her arms with his fingertips, watching in adoration as she fell into a deep slumber within minutes. He recalled the way her nose would crinkle as stray strands of hair would tickle it and how she would scratch it furiously, which always sent him into fits of laughter. Even at that very moment, as he walked through the corridor of the empty house, he struggled to focus on the case at hand; he was reminiscing about the times he would lie in bed with Charlotte watching The Ghost Whisperer, her head cradled gently in the crook of his arm. They would mute the television and create their own dialogue that somehow felt better than any script the show had come up with, no matter how terrible it was. He could hear her giggle and feel her bury her face in his shoulder trying to stifle the laughter. He needed an escape from her, if only for a few moments. He continued his search of the main level of the home, scouring the area for anything that indicated the family had been marked by some dark supernatural force, fighting with every fiber of his being to ignore the way her lips used to curve into a smile.

* * *

I cautiously walked down the dark hallway, feeling the pull of the dark force leading me to the children's bedroom. As I made my way past the door frame, I felt as though my insides were being ripped out through my throat. I stifled a cough, in an attempt to not alarm Dean, and clutched my hand to my neck. Trying to remain discreet, I took a few steps forward. Suddenly, my legs felt as though they would break underneath me; my body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. I sat on the bed in an attempt to relieve some pressure, but the heaviness I felt in my bones only increased as I made my way further into the scene of the attack. I took a deep breath and searched for any traces of joy left in the bedroom under the rot. I could sense laughter, childlike wonder as children played toys, their minds reeling with imagination. The comfort of youth soothed me for a moment, allowing me to collect myself. The sensation of evil slowly escaped my body, and I stood up to investigate the room further. I surveyed every surface, every crevice of the bedroom searching for any manifestation of the supernatural intruder. I began to feel discouraged, as if we were failing the children we came here to save. I took a few paces over to the window, looking over the lofty green trees. I felt a chill creep up my neck despite the warm, summer air flooding into the bedroom. I scoured the wooden windowsill for any hint of supernatural presence to no avail. Peeking my head out the window, I continued my search; I noticed a dark, rotted handprint on the windowpane. The chill I felt on my neck had made its way throughout my entire body. I turned around to call out for Dean just as he was entering the room. "Perfect timing, I found a clue over here."

"Jenkies!" he said sarcastically.

"Could you be serious?" I was so weighed down by the darkness I felt I could barely stand, and here Dean was making jokes and taking a jab at my investigative abilities while he was at it.

Come look at what I found, asshat," I said in an irritated tone. He let out a short, annoyed sigh and strolled over to me.

"Alright, what is it?" he glared at me.

"Take a look for yourself," I replied, motioning towards the windowsill.

He peered his head out the window and looked down at the rotted wood. Almost instantly, I felt the atmosphere in the room shift from annoyance to pure dread. He was staring at the dark mark, frozen in a trance-like state, seemingly incapable of moving a muscle.

"Dean…?" I asked cautiously, with no response from him. It was like he hadn't even heard my voice. I placed my hand on his shoulder to try and pull him from his thoughts; I immediately regretted that decision, as I felt a paralyzing wave of fear and failure overcome my body. I snatched my hand away from his shoulder, as if touching him was like placing my hand on an open flame. After a few moments that felt like hours, he turned to look at me, a dismal sadness in his eyes.

"Alright, I take it back. I don't like you this serious," I said jokingly, trying and failing to lighten the somber mood that was suspended over the room like a storm cloud.

His face did not move a muscle, his stoic expression glued in place, and he simply stated, "I know what we're hunting."

"Let's go find Sam." I led us out of the room and felt the darkness slightly loosen its grip on my body. With Dean following close behind, we made our way down the steps and into the living room, finding Sam on the family's desktop computer. "Hey, find anything?"

"Not exactly. I got nothing from searching around the house, so I've been looking through the history to see if I could dig up any connections," Sam said, rubbing his temples in frustration. He logged off the computer and placed everything on the desk just how he had found it. "How 'bout you guys? What'd you find?"

"Something that should've been killed years ago," said Dean cryptically. Sam sent a glance in my direction, furrowing his brows in confusion. It seemed as though even he had no idea what his brother was on about. Before I could ask Dean to elaborate, I could have sworn I heard the slam of a car door outside.

"Shh!" I hushed them, listening intently. The room was quiet enough to hear a key being slipped into the lock of the front door, and panic ensued. Not being accustomed to getting caught in the act, we clumsily scrambled over each other's bodies in an effort to find a place to conceal ourselves. I silently cursed the fact that this home was not equipped with a back door for us to slink out of. Dean quickly made his way to the kitchen, probably hoping that the mother wasn't in the mood for an afternoon snack. Meanwhile, Sam and I stuffed ourselves into a nearby coat closet. Despite how earnestly I strained to listen for whoever had come into the house, it was as if I had lost my hearing abilities and could focus on nothing but the nonexistent space between Sam's body and my own.

I could feel his heart thumping against his chest and I wanted nothing more than to slip into the familiarity of resting my head on it. Even after the many years that had passed, inhaling his musky scent of soap, sweat and dusty books caused the memories to come flooding back to my mind, and I was drowning.

* * *

 _I tried to stifle a giggle as Sam and I crammed ourselves into the tiny bathroom stall. We had just been released from our classes, and only had fifteen minutes until our next one, but we could not resist the urge to be consumed by one another. We couldn't bare another second of not touching each other; it was as if every magnetic force on earth pulled our lips together, yearning for just a taste of what heaven must be like. Our hands were well-traveled, scouring every inch of each other's bodies in search of a place to rest. His left hand had found its way to my butt, grabbing and drawing me closer with rough desperation while his right arm was firmly wrapped around my waist, refusing to allow us to be apart for even a moment. My hands were lost in him—from running through his shaggy hair, to feeling his muscular back through his thin t-shirt, to feeling his chest, sticky with perspiration, underneath his t-shirt—my craving for him could hardly be satiated. I heard the bathroom door open and we glanced at each other in alarm; Sam sat down onto the toilet seat and I wrapped my legs around his waist to eliminate the possibility of being seen from the bottom of the stall._

 _Although I was fearful of getting caught, my playfulness would not allow me sit in his lap motionless. I decided to have a little fun with Sam by challenging him to stay silent. I began shifting my hips slowly, which resulted in Sam titling his head back and letting out a light, yet gruff groan. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw, struggling to find the power to keep himself quiet. I smiled widely as I watched him try to keep his composure, slightly increasing the speed of my hips against him. In place of letting out a symphony of moans, his powerful hands gripped around my waist so tightly I thought it might bruise my skin, but that just made me want to play with his tolerance more. He rested his head against the stall wall behind him and I began to gently bite the sensitive skin on his neck, tracing my tongue across the marks I had created. His breath hitched in his throat and he tugged on my hair, silently begging me to put an end to the torment caused by not being able to reciprocate the pleasure I was giving him. I finally relented, pulling away from him, and in an instant he had turned the tables on me, kissing and licking every inch of exposed skin his mouth could discover._

* * *

I felt a shiver travel throughout every cell in my body as I was transported back to the present, the desire I felt back then trickling into my mind and consuming my thoughts. I slowly shifted my gaze up at Sam, just barely being able to distinguish his eyes staring back down at me in the darkness of the cramped closet. It almost felt as though he had been lost in the same distant memory, the only indication being that his body had gone rigid, as if he was trying to restrain himself. I knew that it would only complicate things, but the smallest part of my heart wanted him to make a move—I wanted him to do something to show that he didn't harbor any hatred towards me. I wanted us to be wrapped around each other so intimately that I couldn't decipher where my body ended and his began. His hand moved gently to my hip; it was a light, unsure movement. No matter how slight his movement, it was enough to illuminate me, like static electricity was tingling through the wires of my brain.

We had barely noticed the faint footsteps of the person heading upstairs until Dean swung the door open, exposing us. My cheeks were tingling with child-like blush and I felt grateful that my darker skin tone had the ability to mask my mortification. The expression of annoyance quickly faded from his face and transformed into a sly smirk as he saw his younger brother caught in a compromising position. The enjoyment he drew from our embarrassment was brief, as his face became stern and he motioned for us to hightail it the hell out of there.

* * *

I sipped on my glass of ice water as Dean sifted through the bleak dessert menu of the musty dive bar we had pulled into. We had worked up an appetite after nearly being caught—as a group by the homeowner, and Sam and I by his brother. I stole a quick glance at his face across the table; he looked as if he was trying with everything in him to avoid my eyes.

"I think we should book a room at the motel closest to the hospital tonight, make it easier to go back and forth between checking up on the kids," Dean said to Sam as he took a swig of his beer. Sam appeared to be a million miles away in his head, not even responding to his brother's suggestion. "Sammy?" Dean waved a hand in front of Sam's face.

"Huh? Yeah, closer to the hospital, good plan," he said hazily.

"Good. There's one I saw on the drive down here, on Marshall street," replied Dean.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments, each of us reserved in our own minds.

"So, how'd you wind up with our old man?" Dean asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I sensed a feeling of jealousy and bitterness radiating from him.

"I found him in danger one night. He was in pretty bad shape in the middle of a hunt and I helped him get out of there," I answered shortly, wanting this conversation to end as soon as possible.

"Wait, you saved him?" replied Dean incredulously, raising an eyebrow. "How long have you been hunting? I doubt a newbie could save the best hunter I know." I could feel a sense of anger mixed with shame coming off of his body, as if the fact that his dad needed saving at all was something to be ashamed of.

"Yeah, I mean, he is a phenomenal hunter, but everyone needs saving sometimes, you know?" I tried to downplay the fact that his father had a momentary lapse of strength. Sam's eyes shifted between us but he didn't speak a word.

"I guess," Dean said gruffly, taking a swig of his beer. "So you musta started pretty young if you got good enough to help my dad."

"Actually, it hasn't been terribly long. It was just my third year in college," I said, my thoughts drifting back to that time in my life. I spoke almost absentmindedly, lost in what could have been, staring down into my glass to avoid any judgment that might be found in Dean's eyes. "You know how this life just…traps you. I ended up dropping out of school, even though I loved it," I paused for a moment, and was snapped back to reality by the waitress slamming down another bottle of beer in front of Dean. "Anyways," I continued after she walked away, "now I just hunt and do some odd jobs here and there to pay for the travel expenses."

Sam's chin was resting on his folded hands as he stared off into the sea of people behind my head, fixating his gaze on anything that wasn't me. "How old are you anyway?" asked Dean.

"I'm 23."

"That's pretty young to be as good as you supposedly are," he said with suspicion.

"Alright grandpa," I chuckled, "Sam's even younger than I am, so maybe you're just old," I smiled, eating a few of my French fries.

"How do you know how old Sam is?" he asked, even more suspicion filling his voice. Sam's eyes widened as he shot a glance directly at me.

"Oh, because," I stumbled, "I heard…." My heart began pounding and I could feel my palms starting to sweat, grabbing my ice cold glass to cool them down.

"Dean, she's been with dad for how long now?" Sam started, looking at me cautiously, then back at his brother. "He's probably told her all about us."

I felt Dean's anger swelling as he took a rather large sip of his beer and set the bottle back down with a bit too much force. There was an awkward pause in conversation. "Yeah, you can't even imagine all the things I know about you," I said to Dean playfully in hopes of lightening the mood.

"Yeah, well, that's all the more reason not to trust you," he said coldly, scowling.

Before I could amend the situation, the waitress walked over to us and cheerfully asked, "So who's up for dessert?"

"We don't want any dessert," Dean said rudely, standing up and storming away from the table. He pushed his way past clusters of people in the tiny bar and slammed the door on his way out, startling the waitress.

"I am so sorry about that, he must have had too much to drink," Sam said apologetically. Aside from the awkwardness radiating from the two of them, I felt uncomfortable sitting at the table with Sam alone. I knew at one point or another we would have to confront what happened in that cramped closet, but I decided to avoid it for at least a few more hours. I offered an apology to the waitress and stood up, walking away from the table as quickly as I could.

* * *

Sam sat at the table for a few minutes, picking at the fries that Charlotte had left behind. _That was probably as awkward as it could've been_. He mentally kicked himself for not asking her to stay so that they could resolve whatever it was that happened in the closet. He knew what he felt when they were pressed up against each other, and those feelings followed him the entire way to the bar. Throughout their meal he could hardly look at her because the urge to grab her hand and interlock their fingers was far too strong. He feared that if his eyes rested on her for more than a moment, the desire to reach across the table and pull her in for a kiss would be too powerful. Keeping Dean ignorant to their previous relationship was paramount because he was already distrustful of Charlotte; knowing that she had shattered Sam's heart into nothingness would only complicate things further. Sam shook his head and pushed away the basket of fries, deciding to head back to the motel. _Shit, I have to cover the bill…Did I just take my brother and ex-girlfriend out on a date?_ He scoffed to himself, fishing for his wallet. After paying the bill and leaving a nice tip to apologize for Dean's behavior, he walked out of the bar into the cool night. "Aw, come on!" he said exasperatedly, realizing that his brother had abandoned him during his outburst. He called himself a cab to get back to the motel, swearing that Dean would not hear the last of this for a long while.

* * *

Once I pulled into the motel parking lot, I turned my car off and simply sat there for a minute. A few spaces away, I saw Dean's parked car and Dean in the driver's seat doing exactly what I had been doing, brooding over his steering wheel. This mission that John sent me on was proving to be far more dramatic than I had ever intended. I contemplated the situation for a few more minutes and noticed a cab pull into the motel lot. Emerging from the cab, Sam paid the driver and walked over to the Impala. I could almost hear their bickering although my windows were up, and sighed heavily. _This is going to be a long night, isn't it?_

We all headed inside to book our hotel rooms and I was grateful that I would get a moment of peace away from the personal situation. I intended to sit in my bed all night with bad television in the background as I got lost in research to do what we came here to do—solve the case. Sam and Dean were a few steps ahead of me at the desk. There was a small boy booking their room for them, it must have been a family business.

"A king or two queens?" the child asked, holding back a laugh.

"Two queens," Dean said gruffly, looking around the motel lobby.

The boy snickered, "Yeah, I bet!"

"Hey, what'd you say?" Dean said defensively.

I walked up to the counter and leaned in with a mischievous smile on my face. "The real question is: who's top and who's bottom?" We both fell into fits of laughter.

"My bet is the short haired one's a bottom," the boy said between laughs, clutching his stomach.

"I'm the manly one, though!" Dean says with all seriousness.

"It's usually those ones who are," I say. We busted out in laughter again, tears forming in my eyes from giggling so hard. I sighed and try to regain my composure. "I need a room too."

"What, you're not gonna room with them?" the boy asked.

"No _way_! I don't wanna be in there while they're doin' it!" I motioned towards the boys. The little boy laughed once more and handed me my key. I grinned at Sam and Dean as I walked past them and out the lobby door to find my motel room.

"It's official, I hate her," Dean said moodily, folding his arms across his chest.

* * *

a/n: Hey guys, thanks for giving this chapter a read! Feel free to leave some reviews; please let us know if you want us to continue with this story, what you'd like to see happen, comments, questions, or queries! 3


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